In All Candor
by Eagleflame
Summary: Jonathan has always grown up to be a poised, perfect individual. But after a childhood tragedy strips him of everything he's known, he now must do everything he can to keep up that polished facade in the face of his utmost agony. Oneshot. [SMT IV]


Quiet voices hum in the back room. I shift to clear the discomfort in my cramped legs as I sit on the floor. Frustrated, I turn to eavesdropping. It's not the most morally upright of acts, but at this point, it's starting to bother me.

The taking of time. Papa and Abbot Hugo have been in that room for what feels like hours now. "Stay right in your place, Jonathan," my papa instructed me. Thankfully, the sun shines down on my back, and it's quite warm.

A few of the monks across the room are staring at me. I draw back my head and hiss as venomously as I can muster, and they recoil away faster than I had expected. Cloaks _swish_ into a corridor and out of sight. Depression aches in my chest, and I press my lips together. I know I wanted them to stop staring, but I didn't want them to leave entirely.

The only sounds here are the sounds of Papa and Abbot Hugo's breathy mutters. The silence presses on my ears, and I rub at them before sniveling. I'm not supposed to cry. I'm not supposed to cry, but…

The tapping of a heel makes me swivel behind me. A beautiful woman donning white robes stands before me, her hands neatly knit together at her front. The unearthly, powerful gaze of her eyes glances over me before her lips part.

"They're taking too long. Abbot Hugo is being prissy this time."

Before I could respond, she strides to the closed door and swings it open with such confidence that she doesn't even hesitate. The door slams shut once more.

Within seconds, the woman leaves, cold distain echoing in her face. Shifting her shoulders ever so slightly, she bends down, one arm behind her back, and extends her other hand out to me. I take it and stand, chalk dust falling onto my pants. Her hand is warm, comfortably so, like the fireplace back at home.

"I'm Sister Gabby."

"Nice to meet you, Sister. I am Jonathan."

Both Papa and Abbot Hugo soon exit, and while I jump, Sister Gabby responds with nary a twitch of her eyebrow.

"Hugo." She straightens. "What have you been scheming?"

"Scheming? Why, Sister Gabby, I haven't been scheming anything. I'm only aiding in the healing of Jonathan." The warped lies in the man's tone is unbearable.

Sister Gabby's pitch never leaves that monotone of hers. "There's nothing wrong with the boy."

"But!" he replies hastily.

I cock my head at Papa. "Can we go back home now, Papa?"

One swift glare from Sister Gabby cuts my papa off, as if she knew what he was about to say. Though by the expression of disgust worn on his face, I can tell just the same.

"Asuma's body has been returned to dust. There's no more use exorcising someone not possessed."

"But, his actions—!" Papa exclaims. I flinch away.

"—have nothing to do with the work of a demon."

"I would still like to keep him here for more tests," Abbot Hugo says.

"He's been blessed." Sister Gabby's hand lands on my head. I giggle as her fingers begin to tickle the top of my head, and a subtle smile touches her lips. "He is unlike the child Asuma. A blessing is all he needs right now…" A pause. …along with parental support."

Papa gris his teeth.

"Head home, Jonathan." She releases me. "Try not to play Samurai until you are one. It is a very important duty."

A…duty…

"Okay!" I reply. "I-I will fulfill my duty!"

That mysterious smile again. "I know you will."

* * *

A human form slowly approaches me in a deserted land. He has pain written all over his face—pain and confusion.

"Please come," I insist. "It's very important."

He stops by my side, and we look up at the blue sky together. His lips purse, and he lifts his shoulders up, then down before lifting up a hand to run along his long hair, tied up in a ponytail. "I don't know where I am. Do you?"

His speech is very plain. Plain and hesitant. A Casualry, but that's alright with me.

"You've finally come this far." Relief is etched into my tone. "What's your name?" I ask, turning to him.

His green eyes jump up in surprise. "You never answered my question."

"Well, you never answered my question," I accuse.

"Hoy, so I did… Flynn." He extends out his hand, and I take it firmly.

"I am Jonathan."

"I keep having dreams about you." Flynn leans against the great head of a fallen statue behind us. I remain planted in the sand. If I relax myself, I may fall back into unfortunate habits. "But no matter how much I pleaded, you've never showed what you look like before."

I'm silent as I gaze out at the dunes surrounding us. "That's because I felt blocked." My Samurai uniform billows in the sudden wind gust that exploded out of nowhere. "Listen, Flynn… No matter what happens, stay to the true path."

Asuma flashes to mind. Asuma and his wicked smile as he picks up his play sword off the ground. I'm too afraid to look behind me to see if Flynn's eyes changed to red.

I don't want to lose another friend.

As soon as the wind evaporates, I take a shaking breath. "Let us fulfill our duty as comrades. We must keep peace in our home. It's the only one we have on this earth."

Flynn steps forward, and his mouth parts, but yet another strong wind gust causes me to stumble backward. I scream and cover my face with one arm, and when I turn to Flynn, I find him gone.

* * *

 _"_ _I will fulfill my duty!"_

I'm silent as I lay on my bed. The wings of a butterfly catch my attention at the window, and I exhale and close my eyes. I can still feel the heat of the morning sun, though, but I don't have the heart to turn away from it.

If you may…please…bless me to be able to do what I promised to do for Sister Gabby. I am alive today. I do not wish to waste it, no matter my limitations.

My embarrassing limitations.

I inhale, then exhale before I reopen my eyes. My room is the same as it always looks, the chair in the corner just as uncomfortable as my back complains about. I am simply relieved my father did not catch me sleeping there last night. However, as I stare at my bedroom, something different weighs on my heart.

The feeling that I will never see it again.

The odds of being chosen to be a Samurai are astronomical, so my father keeps informing me on the off day he is away from work. Yet, even so, perhaps this sensation is foreshadowing some unforeseen event—the gauntlet may never shine for me, I may lose grip on my composition and run away out of fright or humiliation.

Such an act would be welcoming.

If I am never chosen by the gauntlet, what else would I do but break down? This is what I must do, I need this to protect Mikado, my home. I am so blessed to be living in such a peaceful place—but I can sense the shadows creeping. I must keep it safe for all peoples. To be rejected by the gauntlet is the equivalent of utter shame. Not for my family, but for myself.

I must get ready for the Rite.

* * *

"Are you prepared?"

My father looks over at me as we stand at the doorway.

"Yes, Father," I reply stiffly. I made sure to wear my nicest clothes—if anything, to avoid caterwauling from Father about representing our family name.

He says nothing. Then: "May the lord bless your Rite, Jonathan."

I nod and head out. As I walk down the street, I catch a rather short young man with a brown cowlick bickering with a child clutching his shoulder. He has one foot past the threshold of his house.

"You're going to honor our family, yes?" the child asks.

The man mutters something. "If I did not, Gaston, _I_ would be utterly ashamed! And—" He grabs the hands of the boy and motions for him to go back inside. "—I must be off, lest we embarrass our name further by being truant!"

"I better not catch sight of you returning home!" the boy threatens.

The man chuckles, as if this was the silliest thing to ever make mention of. He turns and heads off, and the child, wearing white clothes, folds his arms and grins at the doorway. As he catches sight of me, his smile falters, and he looks away.

Ignore him, Jonathan… "Hello, Navarre!" I call from behind. "Looking forward to the Gauntlet Rite?"

The man stops and glances behind him. "Oh, hello, Jonathan. I did not realize you too were eighteen."

"Surely you jest," I reply with a smile.

"I do wonder if Isabeau is coming our way," he says.

Oh? Avoiding a reply now, I see. "She usually blends in with the crowds."

"You are correct with that stance."

I gaze at the man before saying, "I myself am curious if we will see Flynn there."

His expression changes from wistfulness to pure doubt. "Who?"

"Eh—oh, someone I met on the way to the marketplace one day. He too is our age," I say. Nervousness eats at me; am I the only one with these dreams?

"Most probably a Casualry," Navarre replies, quickening his pace to keep up with me. "They're always swarming around the marketplace like flies."

I glance down in dejection. That's one thing I truly hate about us.

"Perhaps we should keep watch for our dear friend Isabeau?" I suggest.

"Fine by me." Navarre looks over to the crowds beginning to amass at Aquila Statue Plaza. "You always keep avid watch regardless of what I do, anyway."

I chuckle. "Call it the stimuli in the air."

* * *

As we approach the source of the crowd—where the Gauntlet Rite lies in progress—Navarre sniffs.

"So many Casualries. In my mind, they shouldn't even deserve the honor of becoming a Samurai."

In my mind, neither do you.

"That's enough, Navarre."

"How cutting, you're supposed to be on my side."

He peers around a Casualry man with fluffy, curled brown hair ties back behind his head. The man glances at Navarre before his eyebrows tick up in surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you want to see?"

I grab Navarre's arm before he can say anything. "I apologize, we were just passing by," I say. My friend scowls.

"No, no, it's fine," the man replies. His shoulders shift in an uncomfortable sense. "So, where did you come from to get here? Me and my friend, we trekked quite the ways." He laughs and rubs the back of his head.

"We came—" I stumble backward as a mouse darts past my boots. An overwhelming hunger crawls up from the darkest bowels of my self, but I shove it back down and grit my teeth. Navarre cries out in disgust.

The man pauses. "You don't see mice around a lot, do you?"

"Uh—? No, we do not." I scuff my boots on the dreary stone ground. The loose sand particles rattle and crunch as I move them around underfoot; they remind me of my dream.

With a cheery look, he turns back as he catches sight of someone. "Well, I gotta get going, but I wish you luck, eh?" He forcibly smiles at us before running off. "Hoy, Flynn!"

A man with long hair tied back, dark-colored locks framing his delicate face, glances behind him at the call and holds a hand up in greeting, and as his friend reaches him, he immediately launches into a conversation about "wanting to be a Samurai, and a Luxuror at that." The man nods along to this.

Flynn—?

"Come on, they're calling up the next person!" Navarre grabs at my sleeve.

"Oh!" I hurry after Navarre, who has already begun to charge on ahead through the crowd. "Navarre!"

So this is the Gauntlet Rite. A great production of the monastery for a task that could easily have been completed in half the time and half the effort.

Awed gasps ring out around me.

"It's the mystic script…! He's a—"

"We have a Samurai!"

Flynn is led away by a man clad in white Samurai robes. So he's a…

I'm being shoved.

"Young man!"

I pause and blink, and I catch sight of an older man scowling at me.

"O-oh, I apologize. I did not realize I had spaced out."

By my side, Navarre crosses his arms. "Twenty more people have been rejected by the gauntlet. It seems this year really will be a thin crop…"

"Don't give up too soon, Navarre," I say as I follow the man up to the front.

"Oh? I'm not giving up, I'm only disappointed I'll be one of the only ones."

How smug of you.

The gauntlet feels tight on my hand.

I close my eyes as an overwhelming sensation washes over me. Is this what Sister Gabby described as that realization that suddenly comes when the path of your fate is about to turn—?

"It's a Samurai!"

"Blessed Samurai!"

My eyes snap open. Wha—

Urgent hands grab at my arms—the hands of the monk as he undoes the gauntlet and steers me to the right—and that same man in white approaches me. From a window, Sister Gabby watches, and our eyes lock for just a moment before I am led off and she disappears behind a doorway.

* * *

It feels…dull.

This sight from the rooftop. I've seen it so many times prior to now, yet the two by my side have never caught sight of such a panorama of Mikado. That expression on Walter's face—one of pure joy. Perhaps even awe, amazement—? I can imagine so many thoughts that could be running through his head right now. But Flynn… Why does Flynn just—

—smile?

As if he's simply humoring me…?

I can't help but to part my mouth as a breeze rustles through my hair and weaves through my Samurai coat. This sight has always comforted me. Sister Gabby would take me up here when I was a child. She told me to never forget the beauty that is this home here. That it is my duty to protect it. She also told me to be myself here; however, I believe that I made a careless mistake.

I can never be myself with my friends here, by my side now. But they don't know. I don't want them to ever know.

It is fear? Ah, that's right.

I'm afraid.

Afraid of being kicked into the mud again. Of being shoved around and tugged at and mocked. By having my only friends be two fellow Luxurors who barely even care about anything beyond themselves—!

My hands clench at the stone barrier between us and the air around Castle Mikado. Everything feels so lucid—the ground at my feet, the wind at my ears, the subtle mist in the sky; my body buzzes as I fight to control every inch of it. Becoming conscious of every single one of your muscles and tendons, gripping them with a force that rivals that of Asuma! Why must I fight to be who I am?!

 _Scarred._

"Hey, Jonathan."

"Meo—!" I gasp and seize my muscles tight before I pause, blink, and calmly turn to Walter.

He grins at me. "So why do you fight?"

"Fight?" I reply, unwanted shock creeping into my tone.

"Yeah. As a Samurai. I was just thinking," He turns to gaze off at the skyline once again. "how vast our kingdom is. How different everyone's lives are. So what is it for you? I mean, for a Luxuror, you seemed to fight pretty hard back there in Naraku."

I frown at him. _For a Luxuror?_ Everyone has pasts, stories, journeys, even someone like me. You cannot honestly assume— "I fight for peace," I say.

He cocks his head.

"I fight for the duty that becoming a Samurai brings. For that honor to be able to protect our kingdom! That's why I fight hard." I take a breath. "And you?"

Walter's violet eyes blink, as if taken aback. "Geez, that was a…whiplash… Well," He shrugs. "I guess it's just that thrill. I don't exactly get it from fishing!" Barking out a laugh, he gestures as if he is using a fishing rod. "I'm actually quite glad I don't have the obligation of continuing the family trade. I like the chaos of the battlefield. The adrenaline of the duel as my blood roars in my ears!"

I take a slight step back.

Walter tosses his head back, brushes at the back of his head with a hand, and smiles. "What about you, Flynn? You've been rather quiet this whole time, even after beating the lot of us! I know I would have been bragging."

Flynn twitches his eyebrows down before pressing his lips together. "I…I don't really know. That's what I've been trying to figure out this whole time. This all feels so natural to me. Like breathing. But no matter how hard I try to grasp for it, the answers never come."

Desperation begins to well up in me. "There has to be one way you lean," I offer. Walter stammers something similar behind me.

Flynn doesn't respond. If anything, he looks bothered and overwhelmed.

"W-we should stop—" I mutter, darting out a hand to grab Walter's wrist. He glances at me before he nods.

"Hoy, Flynn, how would a trip to Lake Mikado sound to you?" Walter asks.

"N-no, no, thank you, I need to think for a bit back in my room." Flynn shoots a look at the both of us before walking over to the stairway and heading out of sight.

The air is quiet save for the birds chirping overhead.

I lean back against the stone barrier and breathe in deep. "I see him in my dreams."

Walter sits on the ground in front of me and exhales. "Who, Flynn? I do to," he admits.

"Really?"

The man nods. "Yeah, but whenever I seem to be dreaming of him, he doesn't seem to be dreaming of me." Finally, he stands and sighs. "I should go and rest up." As soon as the sound of his boots fade off, I slide down to the ground and close my eyes. When I open them again, my entire body shakes, as if I'd been holding it back with tremendous effort.

I analyze my hands before I sigh and tug off my gauntlet. My left hand feels stiff, and I massage it absentmindedly.

"Jonathan."

My head shoots up, and the cold gaze of Sister Gabby refers down to me.

"How has the day been?" "The day" meaning my first training exercises.

"Well, overall," I reply, brushing off the grime on my right hand before I begin to lick it clean.

The woman moves to stand by my side. "I get the sense you're not telling me something, Jonathan."

I hesitate before I respond. "I keep dreaming of that Casualry man, Flynn. Yet whenever I try to talk to him, he always pulls away."

"Flynn is nervous. He is not used to the suddenness of being seen as a help. He will warm up with time; however, this time currently is too soon to be discussing familiarities in visions."

"That alone could be a conversation killer," I say with a weak chuckle.

"You must connect with him." Somehow, I sense an urgency to Sister Gabby's voice through the monotone.

"How can I? No one understands me as it is." I hastily complete my clean job, and I smile at my hand. "If I must feel like I requiring hiding, I do not see the point to friendships."

"You are thinking too narrow-mindedly, Jonathan. Flynn's pasts are just as unique as your's."

I look up. "Pasts?"

"Do not be afraid, Jonathan. Keep why you fight in mind."

Her white robe swishes at her ankles, and before I know it, she's already gone back down the stairs.

* * *

As we wander the facility, nervousness and a growing sense of dread buzzes in my chest. The air becomes increasingly hazy with a vibrant fog—a red color that I have never seen before—that's sweet to the olfactory senses. It reminds me of the pastries at the bakery.

"What is this smell…?" Isabeau mutters. "It's sickening."

Flynn nods as he cringes his face in disgust.

Walter twitches, though says nothing, only breathing in hard and rubbing his temples. When we enter into another large area, the fog thickens until it's quite difficult to see, and Flynn coughs and gasps. I follow his pointing finger to a grotesque demon in the center of the room.

"Ah—!" I go to grab my sword, but its total lack of motion gives me pause.

I swivel around as Walter moans and doubles over. When he looks up, something akin to a wild desperation is lighted in manic eyes. His seeking hands grab at Flynn's front. "Flynn, remember that time on the rooftop I told you I didn't want to continue my family's trade…? See, I…" Walter swallows hard as his lips tremble.

"Walter?" I ask. "This is no time to—"

"I-I'm scared of fish!" Total terror burns in his stare. "I must go tell everyone!"

As he rushes off, stumbling as he does so, I bite back a hiss—but really, what's the use concealing it when I truly am angry! "Walter, get back here, this is cowardice!" I shout.

"What—?" Isabeau says. She begins to breathe harder, and her hands dart up to wave at her face. It looks as if she's having a panic attack.

The smell around us reminds me of a gentle embrace—nostalgic and warm—like Sister Gabby's hand that day a long time ago now. All anger melts away as pain fills my heart instead. How unfair that Walter was trapped in a vocation that terrified him; how unfair is it to hide my own insecurities under a mask of confidence when I really have none?

"I-in all candor," I begin hesitantly. Flynn glances at me in confusion. I sigh as my terror eases into a comfortable sense of relief—it feels nice to be able to finally say something. A smile breaks out across my face as I laugh. "I am a cat! _Meeeooow_ ~! Hahaha!" My pent-up laughter roars as I lower myself to the floor. It feels so soft and warm, like sunlight bathes the entire room. "Ahhh, I am a cat! That is what I am!"

"Jonathan, pull yourself together!" Isabeau snaps. Her voice feels muffled and echoic, and I honestly do not care what rubs her fur the wrong way this time. "There are demons everywhere, h-here, there, we must fight them, I can't— T-this is all so, so demeaning!" Isabeau whirls around and trips, and she screams as she attempts to stand. "I can't get up, they're all over this place!"

I curl up more tightly as exhaustion hits me hard. Flynn crumples by my side.

 _"_ _Blessed Samurai!"_

Gasping, I scramble to my knees as blind terror fills me. As I breathe in and out, I find that the smell is all but lingering on our clothing and the location has changed to a gaudy, hot room. The sweet scent is gone, but it feels just as stuffy here than it did back there.

"Don't even try an' bother to escape." A gun is pointed straight to my head, and my eyes dart up to find an Unclean One glaring down at me, his whole face twisted in gruff rage. Jagged, fresh scratches mar his face.

"Ha—haaa…" I lower back down as I exhale, and he seemed satisfied enough to step away again. As I glance around, I find Walter limp against a wall, his face as pale as death itself as he sleeps. Flynn rests to my left. Isabeau is pressed up next to me, and she keeps whimpering in her own slumber. "Isab—" When I lift up a hand to comfort her, I freeze. My fingernails are broken and bloody. "H-huh—?" My left hand with the white glove of the gauntlet is equally stained crimson.

Where are we? What happened?

Shame hits me like a swift punch to the chest.

 _"_ _I am a cat! Meeeooow~!"_

No, no, no, no…

No, no… T-this can't be happening— Please, no, this can't—

* * *

"Jonathan…" A pause. I snivel and clench my teeth. "It's alright." A hesitant hand comes up to touch my shoulder.

The barracks are silent except for Flynn's voice and my tears.

"We all were affected by that demon's gas. Eh…" He sits down by my side and adjusts his position uncomfortably. Then he clears his throat. "I'm…sort of glad I don't remember what happened to me."

I laugh a bitter sound. "Right."

"The others are going up to K's Tavern to relax. Do you want to join us?" Flynn sounds awkward, as if he's never asked such a question before.

"No," I murmur. My face feels hot. "I believe I need to be alone."

Flynn doesn't get up to leave. "No, I don't think you do."

Surprised, I look up at him from my shaking hands.

"Your composure unraveled. So did Walter's, and Isabeau's, and even my own. It wasn't your fault."

I think back to that singular moment when I relinquished control to that comforting smell in the air. And then I snort. "Yes, it was." Flynn doesn't say anything. "I have maintained control for years, I _worked hard_ to maintain control, Flynn, I gave it up! In that one moment—! It was so easy, how was it so frustratingly—!"

I freeze as his fingers touch my back. "I smile when things go wrong."

"What?"

Flynn glances away, his lips pressed together as shame burns his stare at the door. "It's how I cope. If I pretend it's all a joke, then everything is just the same as it always been, but…everyone thought I was a monster growing up, so I started to compartmentalize my emotions. I don't reveal much unless I really force it now." His lips upturn in sorrow. "Acting like a cat—it's how you cope too, am I right?" he offers.

I pause. "When you visit my dreams, do you visit my head, too?" I ask, though my voice breaks.

Without saying much, he moves his hand from my back and wiggles it through the streams of sunlight throwing themselves through the window behind me. "The window bed is warm."

"I prefer the sunlight," I say. "I…needed to battle Navarre for it."

Flynn laughs—genuinely.

"Flynn—" I rub my kneecaps to distract myself. "—when you were a child, did you have any friends?"

"Well, I always had Issachar." He exhales hard and closes his eyes.

"I apol—" I shake my head hard. Enough of this charade. "I'm sorry, Flynn. I understand more than anything what choice you had to make back there. Believe me, if it were Asuma in Issachar's place, I would have spared his life as well. I still believe you made the right decision."

"Who's Asuma?" Flynn asks.

"He…he was my Issachar. When I was young, I enjoyed playing Samurai. It was always something I did when I was tired of my studies, and it's how I met Asuma. But we didn't understand the duties that a Samurai had nor the responsibility to face death in the eyes, and when we were barely ten, we were attacked by a demon that escaped Naraku. It hurt Asuma," I instinctively run a hand along the side of my head. "and I. I wanted to protect us, but I was too injured to do anything. Asuma struck a bond with the demon to protect me, but he lost control and…had to be taken out of his misery by the real Samurai."

Flynn murmurs, "Just like Issachar."

"I-I suppose!" Hot tears well up in my eyes, and I'm sobbing before I can stop myself. I'm not supposed to cry. I'm not supposed to cry, but… I think, today, I am allowed that action.

I can feel myself being drawn into Flynn's arms. "I think Asuma would be happy that you're a Samurai today."

"He would call me a fool for not leaving his memory behind."

"Asuma died trying to protect you. Why would he want you to forget about his life?" I'm silent. "I never knew your friend, but I am certain that he would be honored today if he were to see you."

"How are you so much stronger?" I ask finally.

"Me? Heh!" His bitter laugh catches me off-guard. "Inside, I'm a mess. But is it not the duty of a Samurai to protect Mikado? And how much of a hero would the Samurai be to children if they did not put upon themselves the internal battle of bravery?"

I smile minutely.

"It's not a front we put on. It's more of a…willpower to push through whatever pain we're facing in life. Why do you have your mask, Jonathan?"

His question startles me, and I pull away. "Isn't it obvious?" I spit.

Flynn shifts his shoulders in puzzlement. "Not particularly, no."

With a quiet exhale, I tip my head back to soak in the midday sun. "They thought I was possessed by a demon. Bu-but it wasn't, it wasn't, it isn't, a cat is how I ignore the world!" My voice escalates to a scream. "I feel better when I am a cat because I can be free to be myself."

"It must be hard," Flynn says.

"Oh, it's hard, downright impossible some days when Walter is shouting about the next battle and Isabeau keeps raising her nose at the lot of us and Abbot Hugo makes us commit atrocious acts that we as Samurai should never be doing in the first place! I made it my goal to become a Samurai so I could protect Mikado. Not gather relics to feed that man's greed."

My bitterness is showing.

I've never allowed anyone to see that part of me before.

"Flynn, please promise me you will not tell anyone else about this."

"I've borne many burdens in my life." Flynn stands, extends out his hand toward me, and gently lifts his lips in a smile. "Yours is no different than the others."

I take it and stand.

"Do you still want to be alone?" he asks.

I pause. "No. Let us go relax for a bit. I think we need that before we head out in the morning."

Flynn grins and throws an arm behind my neck. "I'm thankful you are my comrade and friend, Jonathan."

While the weight of Flynn's arm rests across my shoulders, the weight of my secret, in all candor, is long gone.

"Thank you for being my friend, Flynn."


End file.
